A Leafy Lament

I’m all for clean air, but this time of year my nose starts yearning for the smell of an old-fashioned bonfire. I’m not talking about those gigantic camp bonfires. I’m thinking about a respectable pile of leaves—the kind my dad and I would rake together on an autumn Sunday and set on fire about four in the afternoon, the rising smoke signaling all the neighborhood kids to drop what they were doing (which wasn’t much) and come on over. We kids would stand as close to the flames as possible until the knees of our corduroys were just shy of spontaneous combustion, and the moms would shout halfhearted warnings from the porches, secretly thrilled by the spectacle. You’d go home feeling breathless and smelling of wood smoke that would scent your dreams if you were lucky enough to dodge a bath before bed…